Whoreson
by Lady Jekyll
Summary: Rorschach visits a churchyard and is haunted by memories he'd rather forget. UPDATED 6/27/2009!
1. Erasing the Lies

Whoreson

Ch. 1: Erasing the Lies

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Summary: Rorschach visits a churchyard and is haunted by memories he'd kill to forget. Pre-graphic novel; 1960s/Crimebusters era.

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A/n: This story was inspired by threads on the forums concerning Rorschach's turning a blind eye to prostitutes in the book and the identity of 'Charlie', Rorschach's father. Dedicated to my accomplice to insanity on the boards, DogWithHeadSplitOpen.

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It was a bitterly cold for an early May morning. It was still dark, giving the masked young man time to slink back into the shadows if need be. He wasn't sure if it would come to that, as he was in the company of the dead. The young man walked up to a grave that had been well kept, possibly by a gardener. There were no flowers at the headstone. No one ever brought any. He never had the inclination to visit the grave of the woman he hated. What was she thinking now, wherever she was? Did she care that her only child, her son, held her in the same contempt he held for the roaches and rats infesting his apartment?

"This is the _only_ time I'm visiting you," the masked man said. The black ink of the mask swirled, making a pattern against the white background that looked angry. Rorschach wasn't sure what emotion drove him to come to the cemetery this rainy Mother's Day morning. He never even attended the funeral nine years ago. But, he was tired tonight and his concentration wasn't as clear. What was that saying? _The spirit it willing, but the flesh is weak._ He let himself get worn out like this frequently and one of these days, it was going to kill him.

Rorschach's vision blurred a little behind the mask. Knowing the dead would never give away who he was, he pulled the mask off of his face in order to read the headstone more clearly. He felt slightly ill. Surely he'd walked to the wrong grave?

**Sylvia Glick-Kovacs**

**1922-1956**

**Beloved Mother**

'_Beloved Mother'?_ Whoever had _that _asked to be put on the whore's tombstone, it sure as hell hadn't been _him_!

"You and I both know there is no truth to that!" Rorschach snarled his voice barely above a whisper. He wrapped his hands around the crowbar he taken from some punk kid a few hours earlier. "Are you trying to hide your faults even in death, whore?"

There was the scrapping on metal on stone. The sound of breaking memories and marble. A voice a few yards away. He didn't care if he was found. _Chink! Spark! Crumble!_ It felt good to see that bitch's name and memory turn to rumble at his hands after 25 years. God, didn't it feel _right_!

"_I hate you!"_ Rorschach whispered, panting for breath. The voice was getting closer now and still, he didn't care. _"I HATE YOU!"_

"Hey! What the hell do you think—?" said the voice. Rorschach swung the crowbar, hitting the physical manifestation of the voice in the gut. "Oooh…" Rorschach quickly pulled his mask over his face, picking up his would-be assailant's flashlight.

"Daniel?" Rorschach said, surprised. Dan Dreiburg, the second Nite Owl, was on his knees with his arms around his stomach.

"Rorschach…you bastard…ahh!"

"Apologies. Thought you were a vandal," Rorschach said, allowing the crowbar to fall from his hands. God, he was exhausted. He leaned against the remnants of his mother's grave to keep himself standing.

"Well what the hell were _you_ doing? _You're_ the vandal here!" Dan said.

"It wasn't vandalism, Daniel. It was merely erasing the lies."

"What are you talking about?" inquired Dan. "Who was this person?"

The piece of tombstone Rorschach was leaning against cracked, shattering and sending him to the ground. It took a lot to try to get back up. Dan grabbed Rorschach by the shoulder and helped him to his feet.

"That grave is…my mother's," Rorschach said weakly. "I…am sorry."

"No ill will intended, but you look like shit, even with the mask," said Dan, putting his hand on Rorschach's shoulder as the masked man swayed on his feet a little. "When was the last time you got a decent night's sleep?"

"3 days ago," muttered Rorschach.

"No wonder you look like shit," Dan replied with a smirk. "You're practically dead on your feet."

"Best not give the deceased any ideas, Daniel," Rorschach said. There was a tiny glimmer of humor noticeable in his voice. "They might choose to drag me down with them. My mother especially."

Dan smiled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he spoke.

"C'mon, I'll drive you home."

Rorschach's mask swirled, the symmetrical patterns warping, shifting.

"…Thank you," he said after a pause. "Nearly daybreak. It'll be risky getting back into my apartment without the whore seeing."

"Who?"

"My landlady, Dolores Shairp. She is a whore."

Dan looked taken aback at Rorschach's words.

"That seems a little _harsh_, don't you think?" Dreiburg asked as he and Rorschach walked to the parked car outside the cemetery gates. Rorschach let out a weak chuckle as he slid into the passenger seat.

"Truth hurts," he said simply. "That woman reminds me of my mother, who, mind you, was a whore."

"You _are_ aware that there is a thing called therapy, right?" Dan asked as he started the engine.

"Wouldn't do me any good," Rorschach said. "I already know I am beyond saving."

Dan sighed, silently shaking his head. Why Rorschach was even allowed in the Crimebusters was something he'd never fully understand. Not to say that he wasn't a good man. He was strange, socially cold. It was as though he didn't understand people's emotions.

As Dan neared stopped at a red light, he was surprised to see that Rorschach had his head pressed against the window, his breath fogging the window through the mask. He'd fallen asleep. Dan smirked, pulling into his driveway. He opened the passenger door, grabbed Rorschach by the shoulder.

"C'mon, Rorschach, I'll let you crash at my place."

"Hurm…?" muttered the masked man sleepily. He could barely walk; Dan practically had to drag him inside. Rorschach collapsed exhaustedly onto the sofa, pulling off his mask. Dan got a spare blanket from a linen closet in the spare bedroom and draped it over him. The now unmasked Rorschach gave a weak smile and a quiet, thankful "Hurm."

"G'night, buddy," said Dan quietly.


	2. Paper Cut

Whoreson

Ch. 2: Paper Cut

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A/n: This is quite fun for me to write. Even though there is no mention of it in the GN, I like to think that Dan used Rorschach's real name (Walter) when speaking to him at times. I am still continuing with the non-sexual Nite Owl x Rorschach fluff. Yay! Non-sexual Niteschach!

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Dan sighed and walked into the kitchen. He picked up the phone and dialed a well-called number.

"_Hello?"_ said an elderly man's voice on the other line.

"Hollis? It's Dan," Dreiberg said, smiling into the receiver.

"_Oh, Danny! Good to hear from you! We still on for the beer session?"_ Hollis Mason asked.

"Not tonight," Dan said, looking back at Rorschach's exhausted form on the sofa. "A friend of mine has crashed at my place. I'd rather…not leave him alone."

"_Ah,"_ said Mason with a chuckle. _"The sugar cube thief?"_

Dan laughed, fighting to quiet his voice at the sharp _thump!_ of Rorschach's hand smacking the coffee table as his arm dangled off the edge of the couch. Walter growled in his sleep, but didn't wake. "Walter Kovacs, the sugar cube thief, yes; it's him," Dreiberg said quietly.

"_Well then,"_ Hollis continued on the other line, _"how about I drop by and visit __**you**__? It's been a while since I've seen your place."_

"It hasn't changed much in that time," said Dan, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"_I'd like to meet your sugar cube thief as it is. Might give him a good left hook if he tries anything."_

Dan snorted into the receiver. Walter wasn't one to go down without a fight. A punch to the jaw wouldn't faze him in the slightest. Dan wasn't sure what exactly _would_ bring Rorschach down and he couldn't help wonder what it would take… it was a tie between a tranquilizer gun meant to be used on horses or a small army.

"If you want, I'll see you tonight," the second Nite Owl said.

"_See you then, Danny."_

Dreiberg hung up the phone, smiling faintly. He walked out of the kitchen, cleaning off his glasses on his shirt as he moved. Dan looked back at the sleeping Rorschach on the sofa, watching him for a moment. Walter jerked and twitched in his sleep, growling faintly.

_Are you battling angels or demons?_ Dan thought. _I guess, when you think about it, there is no difference. At least not to you._

Dan yawned, walking into his bedroom, hoping to catch a few hours' sleep. He knew Walter wouldn't give him any trouble. Rorschach visited so often, it felt more like a small fraternity than a single man's bachelor pad. The second Nite Owl chuckled to himself, recalling a night when Walter, in the guise of Rorschach, had accidentally walked in on him and Twilight Lady. Kovacs' mask had turned completely white, as though the blood had drained from his face underneath. He didn't come back for three months. Walter's absence had not kept Dan from stockpiling bags of Sweet Chariot sugar cubes, however. It was a force of habit. Dan wasn't sure why he just didn't tell Walter to stop taking them. When was the last time Rorschach had had an actual _meal_, anyway? Dan yawned again. He'd deal with it later. Right now, he just wanted to sleep…

* * *

"RARRRWR! NOOOO!"

Dan shot up at the scream. He fumbled in a sleep-fuzzed haze with the end table for his glasses, running down the hall as he put them on.

"Walter?" he asked. Rorschach was still asleep on the sofa, thrashing, screaming. Dan grabbed Kovacs by the lapels of his trench coat, trying to force him to stay still. "Walter! Walter, wake up!" he said, rapping the other man hard on the cheek. "Wake _up_!"

Walter's eyes snapped open. He was breathing as though he'd run a mile, every inch of him was soaked with sweat. Kovacs blinked once or twice, as though trying to get his sight to focus. Even his eyes burned with fever.

"You all right?" Dan asked, concerned.

"Nuh—Nightmare," Walter gasped. He sat up, letting out a small groan. "Head…pounding. Body's on fire."

Dan walked into the kitchen and came back a second later with a glass of water. He was worried about his friend, wondering what could have happened if he'd dropped Walter off at his apartment instead of letting him stay here. Dan handed Kovacs the glass. Walter put it to his lips and leaned back, chugging. From the stories Hollis had told, it looked like Rorschach could give Byron "Mothman" Lewis a run for his money. Walter dropped the glass, coughing. Dan made to help him, but Kovacs shoved his arm away.

"All right—huack!—drank too fast. Nothing to—" he cleared his throat, only to launch into another coughing fit. Walter groaned, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders before lying back down on the sofa. He fell back into a feverish sleep within minutes.

Dan looked at the clock. It was 8:45 at night! How the hell could he have slept that long? Dan jumped at a knock on the door. He opened it, wondering who would be here this time of night.

"Evening, Danny!" said Hollis Mason.

"Hollis? What are you—?" Dan mentally smacked himself in the forehead. The beer session had been moved to his place this week, thanks to Rorschach. "Come in," he whispered, allowing his mentor inside.

"Is this the sugar cube thief you've mentioned?" Mason whispered, pointing at the sleeping Kovacs. Dan nodded silently, ushering Hollis into the kitchen and closing the door behind them.

"He said he hadn't slept in three days. I let him crash here and he woke up hours later, screaming. He'll be killing himself if he keeps it up," Dan said, pushing a bottle of beer in front of Hollis before sitting down in a chair in front of the old man. Mason laughed, clapping Dan good-naturedly on the shoulder.

"Old mother hen, huh, Danny? You boys are young. I remember, at your age, we'd all try to push our limits. See how far we could go before our bodies gave up on us. But _none_ of us managed to do it as well as Eddie Blake!"

"The Comedian?" asked Dan, nearly choking on his sip of beer.

"Oh sure!" said Hollis with a laugh. "You've seen the picture, right? That clown suit he wore? He was 16 when he started out. Had as much muscle on him then as the redhead on your sofa. Now look at him! He looks like he can bench-press a tank!"

Dan chuckled. Both he and Mason looked up at the closed door, hearing muffled groans behind it. Mason was the first out the door, kneeling down next to where Kovacs lay.

"Didn't…didn't know…mistake," Walter was muttering. "I'm sorry…mother...stop—stop…please…"

"Danny, look here," said Hollis, pulling back Walter's coat and suit jacket. The white wife-beater underneath had a splash of blood across it. Mason tore the shirt open to reveal a long, shallow gash across Walter's chest that was beginning to show signs of infection. Must have been at least three days old. "Looks like he got on the wrong end of a broken bottle. Had he not complained of any pain?"

"He never lets anyone know anything is wrong. This explains everything. He probably ignored it, thinking it nothing more than a paper cut. It's the pain that's been keeping him awake. I'll go call an ambulance."

Hollis nodded, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the bag he'd brought with him. It had been a present for Dan, but now it had a better purpose. Mason had recalled Eddie Blake once talking about improvised medicine that was sometimes used in the army. He was hoping Blake had been telling the truth. Hollis took a clean towel from a drawer under the kitchen sink, soaking it in the whiskey.

"Easy, son, easy," Hollis said, putting one hand on Walter's shoulder to hold him down. He pressed the cloth against the wound. Kovacs howled in pain, his body writhing as though trying to get away. His hand was clamped tightly around Mason's wrist, but his grip lessened as he passed out from the pain.


	3. Brothers in Arms

Whoreson

Ch. 3: Brothers-in-Arms

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A/n: After several months in writer's block hell, I'm gradually getting back into the groove with this piece. Apologies for it being so short.

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The two Nite Owls sat in the cafeteria of St. Luke's Hospital.

"Any idea how he could have gotten hurt?" Hollis Mason asked, pressing a cup of coffee into Dan Drieberg's hand. Dan nodded. He'd been in the patrol with Rorschach the night he'd gotten cut. Walter had said he was all right and, like an idiot, Dan had believed him.

"Yeah," he said. "I never thought to question him when he said he was all right…"

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"_These punks are relentless!" Nite Owl said, punching a Knot-Top in the gut._

"_Complaining, Daniel?" inquired Rorschach as he slammed his knee into another's spine. _

"_No, not at all," Dan said, "I just want to know what drives them."_

"_You know what drives them," Rorschach said. "They are afraid of what they don't understand. They're afraid of __**us**__."_

_Nite Owl shook his head, a little too focused on saving his own ass to continue talking at the moment. He heard the sound of breaking glass. Angered cursing from one of the punks Rorschach was rounding on. There was a shout and the sound of flesh hitting cement. The two remaining Knot-Tops Dan had yet to face fled in terror. Dan turned, panting, back to where Rorschach stood behind him. He, too, was gasping for breath, adjusting his scarf._

"_You all right?" Dan asked. Rorschach made a noise Nite Owl had learned long ago to mean "Yes" and thought nothing more on it. If only he'd taken a better look, he would have seen that Rorschach's white scarf was beginning to turn red._

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"If only I had been able to call his bluff, he wouldn't be like this. He could die and it would be my fault," Dan said once he finished recounting his story to his mentor.

Hollis shook his head as Dan shielded his eyes with his hand under his glasses.

"No, trust me; I've seen a lot worse than what happened to your buddy. _A lot_ worse. And judging by the collection of scars your sugar cube thief has going for him, it will take a lot to bring him down."

"I hope you're right. He's a stubborn son of a bitch, but he's really the only friend I've got. Hell, I'd even say he's like the brother I never had," Dan said.

"That's the thing about our way of life," said Hollis with a comforting smile. "We're like one big, highly dysfunctional family."

Dan couldn't help but smile at that. It was true. Hollis was the father-figure he couldn't remember; Eddie Blake was more or less the cigar-chomping drunk uncle. Rorschach, he thought, truly was like the brother he never had. Dan's memory of his biological family was very vague and so he'd created his own family in this small circle of masked crime fighters to which he was proud to belong.

"Let's go back to the lobby, I think it'll be okay to pay your friend a visit," Hollis said.


End file.
